


Five Times Hathaway And Maddox Shared A Drink

by loves_books



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 15:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11360580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: ... And the one time James and Lizzie did.





	Five Times Hathaway And Maddox Shared A Drink

** First Time – the very first time **

The walk from the station to the pub was the very definition of awkward, and Hathaway found himself desperately hoping that it wouldn’t set the tone for the rest of the evening, or their entire working relationship for that matter. Perhaps it was just him. 

Actually, thinking about it, it was almost certainly just him.

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, now that Maddox had withdrawn her request for a transfer, and now Hathaway finally felt as if there might be a glimmer of hope for his future as a DI. Lewis had left the office in something of a hurry, keen to continue his efforts at apologising to Dr Hobson for not telling her he had given up on retirement, leaving just the new DI and his newest DS, and the tentative suggestion of grabbing a quick drink.

He wasn’t even sure whose idea it had actually been, now.

A few feeble attempts at conversation had died off fairly quickly, leaving the pair of them walking in a stilted silence, and Hathaway almost felt he could cheer out loud when the White Horse finally came into sight up ahead. He chanced a sideways glance at Maddox as he quickened their pace a fraction, relieved to see a tiny smile on her lips as she matched him step for step.

Okay, Hathaway told himself firmly, he could do this. It was just a drink with a colleague, after all. He hadn’t done it with his first two sergeants – hadn’t wanted to, really – but he distinctly remembered Lewis taking him out for a pint after their first case together, all those long years ago. Ah, but it hadn’t been a pint, of course; it had been a glass of the finest orange juice for Sergeant Hathaway.

It hadn’t been awkward with Lewis, though at that point they’d barely known each other for a few days, far less time than Hathaway and Maddox had already spent together. Things had rarely ever been awkward with Robert Lewis, even back in those early days.

Holding the door open as they reached the pub at last, Hathaway gestured – somewhat awkwardly, of course – for Maddox to enter first, but to his surprise she just laughed.

“Chivalry isn’t dead after all, then!” Maddox swatted Hathaway’s arm gently, a slightly wider smile on her face. “Go on, get inside. First round’s still on you, right, sir?”

Feeling slightly bemused, Hathaway gave in easily and led the way into the bar area, relieved to find it crowded though not full; some background noise would help, hopefully. “It most certainly is my round, Maddox. What’s your drink of choice?” He resisted the urge to suggest a glass of juice, somehow knowing that the joke wouldn’t quite work here, not coming from him.

Maddox made a thoughtful noise before answering decisively, “A glass of red wine, please. We don’t need a ‘designated driver’, do we? We can both walk home from here, or share a taxi if it starts raining. I really don’t do orange juice.”

Oh, they were going to get along just fine, Hathaway couldn’t help thinking with a smile as he watched Maddox disappear off in search of a table. And after a couple of drinks, hopefully his awkwardness would disappear entirely.

 

** Second Time – a working lunch **

“You know, I still always feel a bit sneaky doing this, even now.” Maddox’s casual comment made Hathaway raise an eyebrow curiously, and she obediently explained, “Drinking at lunchtime, I mean. It feels a bit wrong. A bit cheeky.”

Hathaway couldn’t help noticing that those feelings didn’t stop his sergeant from taking a long, clearly satisfying drink of cider before tucking back into her sausages and mash, though he did just about manage to swallow his smile.

“We have been on the go since half past four this morning,” he pointed out with a shrug and a yawn, stabbing at his steak with more force than was probably necessary. It was a bloody good steak, and Hathaway certainly felt he’d earned it, along with his beer. “I hardly think a swift half-pint with a very late lunch at three in the afternoon requires any feelings of guilt at all, let alone cheekiness.”

He waited to see if Maddox was going to point out the fact that she’d actually been at the crime scene at least half an hour earlier than Hathaway, if not earlier still – such was the bagman’s lot in life, and Hathaway could remember many dark, cold, wet mornings spent standing around at crime scenes waiting for Lewis to arrive, mentally preparing his thoughts and a summary of what they knew so far, all the while fighting to not fall asleep where he stood.

Maddox tactfully chose not to comment on her early start, continuing to work her way through lunch instead, and Hathaway could perhaps understand; they were still feeling their way through working together, after all, testing out boundaries and bumping heads on occasion. They were getting there, though, slowly but surely, and overall their working partnership so far really was working out better than Hathaway could have dared hope.

“Still feels like we’re skiving off,” Maddox muttered into her glass, though the definite smile hovering on her lips showed Hathaway she was just joking. “Not complaining, mind; don’t get me wrong.”

“I should most certainly hope not.” Hathaway took a long drink from his own half of best before suggesting, “How about we talk it all through? See if the alcohol and food shake anything loose in these tired brains of ours? Might ease some of those guilty feelings of yours, too.”

They’d done this a few times together now, borrowing a tactic Hathaway had often noticed Lewis using during their time working together, and Maddox nodded, obviously understanding him immediately. “Right. So, Jason Dunne, first murder. Could he have done it? Yes. Motive? Yes, jealousy. Second murder, could he have done it? Yes.”

“No motive, though,” Hathaway pointed out. “And every reason not to. What about Bryan Gallagher?”

Hathaway watched his sergeant purse her lips before answering, clearly thinking it all through just as she should, and he pushed the remnants of his lunch to one side, sitting back in his chair with what was left of his beer and stifling a small burp.

“First murder – opportunity yes, but motive no, not really.” Maddox paused, titled her head. “Unless there’s a connection somewhere we don’t know about yet. Second murder…”

 

** Third Time – no words **

On some nights, there were just no words. They sat on opposite sides of the table, Hathaway and Maddox, both huddled deep into their coats and scarves against the cool night air, and both nursing nearly empty drinks. And neither of them had any words, because there were none, and none were needed.

This was why they both needed this time, Hathaway thought numbly. Maddox had her husband waiting for her at home, and she could try to explain it all to him if she wanted, though Tony would never be able to fully understand. Hathaway, of course, had no one waiting but an empty flat and a well-stocked liquor cabinet, and even he was fully aware that he’d spent far too many nights drinking alone recently. He didn’t have a problem, not as such, but he knew he walked a fine line sometimes. 

Company was what he needed on nights like these. Silent company. Understanding company.

Apart from the two of them, the beer garden was virtually empty barring a couple of smokers huddled together around the outside heater, and Hathaway was more grateful than he could possibly explain for the quiet of the evening around them. Somewhere in the background the river burbled away gently, and Maddox breathed heavily yet calmly close by, and that was all the sound Hathaway felt he could cope with at that precise moment in time.

There had been screams earlier, first of fear then of horror as the twin gunshots rang out, and if Hathaway closed his eyes he knew he would hear those screams still. But sitting there with his nearly empty pint – his third of the evening, so far – he could keep them at bay a little longer, and perhaps even drown them out completely, at least for one night.

Across from Hathaway, Maddox lifted her glass and tossed her head back dramatically as she drained it dry, the ice cubes from her double-vodka-cranberry clinking gently when she set it back down on the table with a thud. Hathaway knew he should be offering words of comfort and guidance as her mentor, of course, but to his shame he simply didn’t know where to even start.

There were no words. How could there be, after a day like that when two lives had been lost right before their eyes, and three more had been changed forever? Hathaway and Maddox had arrived just seconds too late to stop a desperately unhappy woman killing her abusive husband before turning the gun on herself, right in front of their three sobbing children.

Maddox stood, somewhat unsteadily, bracing herself with one hand on the table as she rummaged in her handbag, presumably looking for her purse. Before she could find it, though, Hathaway reached into his pocket and silently handed over his wallet. The least he could do was provide his sergeant with alcohol, even if he couldn’t offer the words of comfort he suspected Lewis would have found so easily if he hadn’t taken off to New Zealand.

But then again, he mused darkly as Maddox drifted back into the pub after squeezing his shoulder briefly in passing, some days, and some nights, there really were no words at all. And perhaps it was better that way.

 

** Fourth Time – painkillers and alcohol **

To give credit where credit was due, Maddox did manage to resist making any sort of comment on the subject until the moment she actually placed the pint down in front of Hathaway and took her seat. And even then, it was only a faint frown, rather than the full lecture he’d secretly been expecting.

Hathaway took a long, much-needed drink, still with no comment from Maddox, before saying with a smirk, “Go on, then. I can tell you’re dying to say something, though I must admit I’m impressed by your restraint so far.”

“It’s just…” Maddox shook her head, lifted her glass then put it back down again untouched, clearly reaching a decision. Her deep brown eyes bored into his as she leaned forwards over the table, her voice low and serious when she asked, “Should you really be drinking alcohol right now?”

“You wait until after you’ve very kindly bought the first round before bringing this up? Makes no sense, Maddox. Some sloppy detective work there.” Hathaway was careful to smile, hoping Maddox would understand that he was joking, but instead his sergeant’s frown just grew a little deeper, making Hathaway feel suddenly guilty. It wasn’t really a joking matter, after all, and he appreciated her concern.

“Are you sure you should be mixing painkillers with alcohol? What exactly did the doctors at the hospital give you, anyway?” Maddox held out a demanding hand, palm flat, then wiggled her fingers at Hathaway. “Hand ‘em over, sir, come on. Let me take a look.”

But Hathaway just took another long sip, the cold beer the perfect restorative after the three long hours they’d spent sitting in accident and emergency, waiting for an x-ray. “It’s fine, Maddox, really. One pint won’t hurt, and I’m not planning on taking what the hospital gave me anyway, just some paracetamol if I really have to.”

“But – ”

“It’s only sprained, remember, not actually broken.” Hathaway shifted his bandaged wrist carefully where it lay protected in a snug sling, close to his chest. “It doesn’t hurt too badly; I’ve got a pretty high pain threshold, and I’ve had far worse in the line of duty.” Bumps, bruises, gunshot grazes and knife wounds, for a start, not forgetting a touch of whiplash one time, though he hadn’t technically been on duty when that had happened.

Maddox still looked as though she wanted to protest, though, her frown lingering for a moment longer before mostly disappearing with a shrug and a muttered, “Ah, I’m not your mother, sir.”

“My mother hen, perhaps.” Hathaway offered Maddox what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I appreciate the thought, but there’s no need to worry about me, sergeant, honestly.”

Still clearly not quite prepared to let the matter go entirely, Maddox asked him, “Just promise me you really won’t mix the two, okay? I don’t want to have to try carrying you home; you’ll do my back in completely, with the size of you.”

“I’ll be careful, I promise.” Hathaway lifted his pint with his good hand and waited until Maddox lifted her own drink, then clinked their glasses carefully together in a toast. “Cheers to another case solved.”

 

** Fifth Time – undercover, or not **

To Hathaway’s amusement, Maddox couldn’t seem to settle on her barstool at all, first crossing then uncrossing her legs, and shifting around constantly. She’d also picked up her handbag and put it down again what must have been a dozen times in the fifteen minutes since they’d arrived. Not at all subtle, to Hathaway’s mind.

“Stop squirming, Maddox,” he eventually told her with a smile, quietly sipping away at his pint. “Relax and drink your wine.”

His DS looked slightly sheepish. “Sorry, I can’t help it. Believe it or not, I’ve never been on a stakeout before.”

Hathaway huffed a little laugh, earning a frown from Maddox in response. “This is hardly a stakeout,” he found himself pointing out. “This is just us two having a quiet drink after a long day at work. If it happens to coincide with our key suspect potentially turning up at his local watering hole of choice, even though he claims never to have stepped foot inside before, well…”

It was Maddox’s turn to laugh then, her frown melting away, and to Hathaway’s relief she also seemed to finally find a comfortable position on her stool at last, picking up her wine glass. “Never been undercover, either,” she commented, somewhat cryptically to Hathaway’s mind until she gestured over her shoulder at the rest of the bar, which appeared to be full of couples. “Good thing my Tony’s not the jealous type, even while he’s overseas, sir!”

Without really thinking it through, Hathaway immediately replied, “If we’re meant to be on a date, Maddox, then you probably shouldn’t be calling me ‘sir’.”

“Never judge anyone on their kinks,” Maddox retorted primly, then waggled her eyebrows at Hathaway before adding, in a deliberately deep and husky voice, “Isn’t that right, sir?”

Hathaway found he had to clear his throat, much to Maddox’s obvious delight, and chose to try to catch the bartender’s eye rather than trying to come up with a suitable response. He could feel his cheeks warming with what he strongly suspected was a blush. Damn his complexion.

“Same again, please,” he ordered when the barman finally came over, reaching for his wallet and gesturing at their two glasses. “And a bag of pork scratchings for this one, too, thanks.”

“Oh, you are a good man, sir.” Maddox still sounded amused, though in the very next moment her voice turned serious again. “Hello, then. Look who’s just walked through the door, all casual-like. And he swore blind that he never came here.”

Hathaway turned slowly on his stool to see their suspect winding his way through the tables towards a woman sitting alone at one of the back tables, waving to the bartender and calling for his usual, sharing a fist-bump with one man as he passed through and exchanging greetings with another couple.

“Well, well, well. How very interesting.” Hathaway finished off the last of his drink, waiting until Maddox had done the same before standing. “Shall we go have a little word?”

 

** And One **

“You don’t have to keep saying that you’re fine with it, you do realise?” James carefully nudged Lizzie’s full glass of wine a little closer to where her hand rested limply on the table. “To my ears, you don’t sound as if you’re fine with it. And I’m not sure I would be fine, if it were me.”

Lizzie shrugged, though she still made no move to pick up her drink. “It’s a done deal now, let’s face it. It was meant to be a one year extension, now it’s turned into an eighteen month contract. It doesn’t matter what I think about it.”

James tutted softly. “Lizzie, of course it matters.”

“It’s a great opportunity for Tony. A brilliant chance to learn new skills and grow his career, networking and all that, and it’s really good money, too. We’ll finally have enough for a deposit on a house by the time he comes home.” To James, though, it still sounded very much like Lizzie was trying to convince herself, even more than she was trying to convince him.

He was careful to keep his voice gentle, knowing it wasn’t his place to judge or to assume anything, but he was genuinely concerned for Lizzie’s feelings. “You must miss him, though.” 

It wasn’t quite a question, and James wouldn’t have been at all surprised if Lizzie chose to ignore him; instead, her voice suddenly grew almost angry, determined in a way he encountered at work nearly every day. “Of course I bloody well miss the man. Skype just isn’t the same as seeing him every day, though it’s better than nothing. But we’ve talked about it, and it really is for the best, for now, at least.” Lizzie paused, then sighed heavily, her sudden fight seeming to drain away. “I’ll go visit in a few months, perhaps, and he’s going to try to come home for Christmas.”

James took a long drag on his cigarette, watching Lizzie through his sunglasses and savouring the warmth of the sun on his skin. To his eyes, for the most part Lizzie did look as fine as she kept insisting she was, if a little tired perhaps, but some of the brightness had faded from her dark eyes recently. He made a mental note to lean on HR about the leave request he knew she’d put in just the other day; they were dragging their heels over authorising it, but Lizzie needed a break. They all did.

“Have you thought about joining him in Canada? For more than just a visit, I mean?” The questions slipped out almost before James had a chance to think, and Lizzie choked on a sip of wine before huffing a laugh, though the laugh sounded slightly bitter to James’s ears.

“You still trying to get rid of me?” Lizzie retorted, and James ducked his head with a smile. “I thought you’d finally figured out after all this time that I’m not going anywhere? You’re stuck with me, boss, sorry.”

It did have to be a serious option, though, so James steeled himself and pushed a little further. “But there must be opportunities over there for you, surely? Liaison roles with the RCMP, or even a straightforward transfer, or perhaps – ”

“James.” Lizzie stopped him with a single word, and reached out to squeeze his free hand briefly where it rested on the table top between them. “Leave it, okay? It’s fine. I miss him, but it’ll be best for both of us in the long run. And in the meantime, I have you to keep me company.”

With a soft smile and a nod of agreement, James allowed the change of topic, moving on to the other subject he knew was high on both of their minds. “You’ll have the one and only Robert Lewis to keep you company too, soon enough.”

“He gets back in three days, right?” Lizzie knew the flight details as well as James did, of course, though she probably wasn’t counting down the hours, minutes and seconds in quite the same way. James had barely been able to think of anything else since they’d first heard the news. “I still can’t quite believe it’s all over between him and Laura. Wonder what happened?”

“Digging for gossip, Lizzie, really?” James tutted lightly; he’d been wondering the very same thing as well, of course, imagining dozens of increasingly bizarre scenarios which might have led to the end of their friends’ relationship. The one short email they’d received had said only that Robbie and Laura had decided to go back to being just friends, and that Robbie would be returning early from New Zealand while Laura continued on the trip with her family. 

“Not gossiping, honest. Just very surprised, that’s all. I hope they’re both okay, whatever caused it.” They sat in silence for a moment before Lizzie sighed and shrugged, then James shrugged back at her as he took another drag on his cigarette, and then they both smiled at each other as Lizzie continued, “Well, at least we’ll both be free to give Robbie a hand moving his things out of the house, assuming he still wants to do it before Laura gets back. And I guess he’ll be staying with you?”

James just nodded, suddenly not quite trusting himself to speak and desperately willing himself not to blush. He’d made up the bed in his spare room for the very first time ever, rather than using it as a convenient dumping ground, approximately five minutes after he’d read the email from Robbie.

Lizzie lifted her wineglass and tilted it into the light, studying James over the rim, her dark eyes growing thoughtful. She quirked one eyebrow up at him, and James leaned back in his seat, stubbing out the last of his cigarette in the ashtray before asking self-consciously, “What?”

With a brief shake of her head, Lizzie seemed to change her mind. “Forget it. Not sure it’s exactly my place to say anything.”

“Go on. We’re friends, Lizzie, not just colleagues. You can say whatever it is you’re thinking.” But even as the words left his lips, James suddenly had half an idea what Lizzie might have been about to say, and he felt his heartrate pick up at the notion that it could finally be out in the open. 

He wasn’t at all sure that was such a good idea, though before he could change his mind and tell Lizzie to leave it alone after all, she’d already taken him at his word and started to speak.

“Are you going to tell him how you feel? Not right away, of course, but when you’re ready. When you’re both ready. He’ll be single, you’ll be single…” Lizzie let her voice tail away, taking a sip of her wine and holding his gaze steadily, squinting slightly as the sun dipped lower in the sky. “I’m not wrong, am I?”

“When am I _not_ single?” James asked first, stalling for time and appreciating the soft smile the comment earned him. He squared his shoulders, stretching his back out a fraction, then whispered, “And also, how did you know?”

Lizzie actually scoffed at him, though her dark eyes were kind. “Oh, please. I had it figured out on the second day I was working with the pair of you. Not day one, because you were pretty pissed at him, but definitely on day two. It’s been blindingly obvious at times, if you ask me.”

Somehow the thought wasn’t as upsetting as perhaps it should have been; Lizzie knew him well enough, now, to have seen through some of the walls James had spent years building to hide his feelings, and she was a bloody good detective in her own right. He did feel so much more than just friendship for Robbie, and had done for a very long time, though he did pray it wasn’t so easily apparent to anyone else. 

“Not obvious to him, I hope,” James said softly. “I sometimes forget just how good a detective you’ve become, Maddox.” He clasped a hand to his chest as if overwhelmed with pride in his sergeant, but Lizzie flapped a hand at him over the table.

“Oi, no shop talk, remember? And no dodging the question either, not now it’s out there. For the record, though, I should say that I’m all for it. The two of you are perfect together, always have been, and I think he’d be good for you, like you’d be good for him. Any fool can see how much he cares about you too.”

James buried his face in his pint glass as he took a long, slow sip, suddenly feeling entirely unable to meet Lizzie’s curious gaze as his face burned with embarrassment. He’d kept his feelings so carefully hidden for years now, having no idea how Robbie would respond, and always being quite confident that the object of his affections had no idea at all. Could Lizzie possibly be right? Might Robbie possibly be able to care about him too, in the same way?

“I have no idea what I’ll do,” he said eventually, continuing on quickly before Lizzie could interrupt him. “Certainly nothing for quite some time, as you say. Maybe nothing ever, I don’t know. I guess I’ll just see how things go when he’s back. Play it by ear.”

He forced himself to meet Lizzie’s eyes, thankful to see understanding there as she graciously allowed him to shy away from giving a direct answer.

“I don’t believe for one moment that you’ve ever played anything by ear in your life, apart from in the most literal musical sense, but I suppose that’s fair enough.” Lizzie went to take another sip of wine, only to look surprised to find she’d already emptied her glass while they were talking, and she looked to James questioningly. “You got time for another round? We can keep each other company a while longer?”

As tempting as that sounded, James glanced at his watch first. Nearly eight o’clock already; where had the evening gone? “Thought you were meeting Bex at the club?”

“She can wait a while, I’ll send her a text. Same again, James?”

And James found himself nodding, more than content to sit there in the fading summer’s evening with an understanding friend and a fresh pint. “Thanks, Lizzie, that sounds perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm having another one of my periodic attempts to clear out my Lewis WIP folder, mostly in the hope of finding inspiration to actually finish something halfway decent for the Summer Challenge. Today I've deleted two old stories but couldn't quite bring myself to delete this, though I know I'm not going to work on it further, so perhaps someone might enjoy it. Written shortly after the last episode aired, and I think this was originally from an old prompt on Lewis Challenge. Unbetaed, quite obviously!


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